Feels' Bucket
by Insomniz
Summary: A collection of little mcfeels stories coming straight outta my bucket, involving three little adorable rascal, a panicked dad-uncle, and an adorable grumpy ol' uncle (and sometimes other characters like Webby, Mrs Beakley, and who knows ? so much characters)


**Edit: I corrected it a little and gave it a title! _(it means Bluebeard in french...)_ In french yes i won't ever stop giving french titles, i could also give italian titles**

 **Welcome to the collection Feels' Bucket... A bucket where you get your daily feels about Ducktales, and about the disney ducks in general. The feels will be more or less stronger, really it will depend on the story.**

 **Here we begin with sweet feels, no rating really because it's okay. It's more fluff and mild angst that anything else. Worse will be coming, though.**

 **But meanwhile, enjoy this story!**

* * *

\- Louie, give me the- ... achoo!

The loud sneezing of their uncle startled the three little boys, who stopped all at once their activities to turn to their uncle, worried looks all over their faces. He had been sneezing and coughing all evening, but it had started worsening little by little. He had almost sneezed in the soup, but that wasn't the first issue the triplets had to deal with.

\- Are you ok, Unca' Donald ? asked a concerned and uneasy Huey.

\- 'Nothing to worry about, boys, Donald replied with a smile. Just got a cold, 's all.

\- Are you sure ? You really don't seem too well, Dewey added, squinting his eyes. You're a bit pale.

\- Nah, it's nothing i tell-

He was interrupted another time by a cough, a severe one, that made him bend and struggle to catch his breath afterwards. This earned a share of anxious looks between the triplets.

\- You're sick, Unca' Donald. We probably should call the doctor...

\- AH NO! No doctor! he shouted between two coughs.

\- But Unca' Donald...

\- I can't afford to pay a guy that will come to tell me i should relax and loosen up on jobs, he grumbled. I can do-

Again, his sentence was chopped off by a sneezing before he could even finish it. This time though, it had made him take a step back ; it was powerful, and he brought a hand to his temple.

\- Ugh... My head...

\- Do you want to sit down, Unca' Donald ?

Donald then realized he was shaky and unstable on his own feet. This damn cold was really something, after all. Maybe more than a cold. He recognized the symptoms, and he really didn't like it. He was more tired than ever, had been struggling to breathe all afternoon, coughing and even sneezing sometimes. It seemed to be a flu, if not a pneunomia. He had had a pneumonia once in his childhood, he was something like seven years old, like the triplets ; bad memories, really.

And the boys were staring with gazes full of worry. He didn't want them to fear for him. And overall, he didn't want them to catch pneumonia. Oh no, he wouldn't ever forgive himself if it was his fault. He had to isolate himself. Keep them safe from him. He didn't want to see his three boys stuck in bed for two weeks with a 40 degrees fever. Maybe he should call Scrooge to keep an eye on them ?

\- I'm okay, thanks Louie. Work was just a bit tiring today, i guess cold and fatigue just don't go tog-

He coughed again, and this time was the last straw for the triplets as they watched him grabbing his t-shirt to his lungs.

\- That's enough, Unca' Donald. You're going to go get some rest while we finish diner.

\- But... Boys...

\- We'll be okay, we just need to serve everyone the soup. You got to go to bed, you're in no shape to stay standing.

Donald made his hand run through his feathers and didn't answer for a moment. He was clearly assessing the situation and wondering if he could let his seven-year-old boys could serve the burning soup alone. But he couldn't infect their diner like this. He couldn't stay near them. He guessed he could go take a nap for some minutes when he began experiencing vertigo and had to grip onto the wall to stay steady. His train of thought was clearly skidding on its rails. Man, how did it get so hot in the kitchen ? His whole body was beginning to ache more and more.

\- Well, i guess a nap would be pretty great right now...

This brought smiles on the faces of the triplets, who happily led their uncle to his room. Donald had to grab the wall or his own boys not to fall on his way to his room. The tiredness in his legs was extreme. Did he ever experienced a tiredness this tremendous ? He didn't remember. He couldn't remember, that was by far more correct. He couldn't even remember where his room was. His thoughts, he couldn't even hear them, they were completely covered by his own breathing. It became more and more quick and loud. It was like he was making the effort of his life, but really, he was just walking. Something was wrong.

But the triplets were here, and he couldn't be more grateful they were here to help him.

Donald crashed on his bed and didn't seem to even have the strength and the motivation to move. He grunted something incomprehensible and seemed to calm down a bit as all the triplets could hear was his rasp and low breathing. Dewey and Louie covered him with his sheet while Huey was lifting up his uncle's head so he could breathe more easily.

In fact, he could hardly believe his uncle could feel them moving him ; the moment he had crashed on the bed, he had closed his eyes and something told Huey he wasn't going to open them for a long moment.

* * *

\- He's gonna be alright, now, whispered Huey, the more responsible of the three, closing slowly his room's door.

\- He'd better be, whined little Dewey. He promised to read us the next chapter of Bluebeard after diner.

\- I don't know if he's gonna be able to read us anything, Dewey.

\- Is Unca' Donald going to die ? asked Louie in a weak tone.

The little duckling in green was gripping his t-shirt and looking really concerned. He was on the verge of sobbing. He had seen the worry on his brothers' faces, he had seen his uncle in bad shape, he wasn't blind. He knew it was bad.

His older brothers shared a glance.

\- Why would you think such a thing, Louie? He's not going to die! Dewey exclaimed. Is he?

\- Of course he's not. He just got a little cold, guys. He'll be fine after he's taken a little nap. Meanwhile, we're going to eat in silence so he can sleep peacefully.

The diner was dead silent indeed in the kitchen. If it was tense, it was because everyone was nervous about their uncle's health. They could hear him from his room cough from time to time and grunt incoherent things. His coughs were painful to hear, deep and never-ending. Maybe they should have called the doctor after all. Unca' Donald was suffering from more than a cold.

But Unca' Donald thought doctors costed too much. The triplets knew also that their uncle didn't want anyone to care about his health or to worry about him, but they did anyway, because they loved him very dearly. And seeing him suffer that much just crushed their hearts. They sipped their soups without a word.

\- We should maybe get him some soup... It will warm him up, right ? Dewey suggested.

\- Great idea. Plus he needs to eat to gather strength.

But when the triplets entered his room again, it was to discover that Donald's condition had worsened instead of enhancing.

He was breathing really loudly and quickly, as if it was difficult for him. He sounded like he'd just won a race : out of breath and trying desperately to catch it. He had little hiccups that made him shake in his bed without rest and a wince was constantly possessing his face. The triplets were really frightened. They never had seen their uncle like that.

Usually he was full of energy to hide the fact he was tired after work, he was yelling sometimes, but not as weak as now, bedridden and quivering. He looked in pain. And that was terrifying. Because usually the triplets were the one who hurt themselves, when they fell from their bikes, for example : Unca' Donald just couldn't be hurt. They had never seen him fall from his bike. They had never seen him in pain, because he was strong, right ? He was their uncle, he couldn't be hurt.

Yet now, it really seemed like he needed help.

Louie grabbed Huey's sleeve frantically and hid behind his brothers, obviously not able to bear the sight of his sick uncle. Dewey was trembling a bit, trying to assess the situation. But Huey couldn't show them he was scared. He was the older triplet.

\- Louie, go call Uncle Scrooge. Tell him that we need him, okay?

Louie nodded, and didn't wait any longer to leave the room, maybe a little relieved not to have to stand the vision any longer. He rushed to the phone, dialing Scrooge's number faster than the speed of light. It rang a bit into the void, but when a rusty voice answered a call, Louie could feel his heart beat again in relief.

\- Donald, is that ye calling me again for me money? Because if ye are, no means-

\- Uncle Scrooge?

The voice at the other end of the wire immediately took another tone.

\- Why hello lad! Shouldn't ye be in bed by now?

\- Uncle Scrooge, we need you, please come...

\- Is everythin' alright ? Scrooge replied with a more worried voice. Where is yer uncle Donald ?

\- He's very sick Uncle Scrooge, he doesn't want to call a doctor but we're very scared... What if he dies ? I don't want him to die...

\- Lad calm down, nobody's going to die. Ye just wait a bit, okay ? I'll be there before ye know it.

* * *

\- Dewey, you gotta hold him so he can drink. Hold his head. I'll give him the soup.

\- Is it hot ?

\- I checked. It's tepid, it's not gonna burn him.

Dewey lifted a bit his uncle's head from the pillow while Huey was raising slowly and with precaution the spoon to Donald's lips.

\- You'll see, you'll feel better if you eat, Unca' Donald. Here.

The sick duck opened slightly his beak, just enough for Huey to swiftly give him the soup. His cheeks were a bit red, and his brow was covered in sweat. The duckling dressed in red put his hand on his uncle's brow, only to find out it was blazing. Donald was growing a fever, and not a little one. Huey turned to Dewey.

The glance Dewey gave him was filled with hope and expectation. His eyes were saying «please tell me he's going to be fine». But the fever said otherwise. It was way too high ; Huey couldn't put a number on it right now, but he knew it was far too hot to be fine.

That was the moment Louie chose to peek from the door ajar.

\- I told Uncle Scrooge to come. He'll arrive soon.

Good, Huey thought. He'll know just what to do.

Louie stopped and observed his brothers during two seconds.

\- Is Unca' Donald eating ? Is he feeling better ?

A heavy cough answered his question.

\- He's growing a fever. We should cool it down now before it deteriorates.

\- I'll be right back, Dewey exclaimed, jumping from the bed and disappearing into the corridor.

If Dewey was an energy ball, Louie was a statue. Still prostrate on the threshold, he couldn't seem to make a movement, unlike his brother, who was possessed by panic and couldn't stay in place.

\- It's okay, Louie. Com'ere.

Louie made a few paces to Huey and he sat next to him on the edge of the bed, next to his uncle.

\- He's not looking s-so well, huh? Louie mumbled, his eye on their patient.

\- He's just ill. Ill people have fevers, but it will go down eventually. And Uncle Scrooge, he will know what to do.

\- He looks like he just ran a marathon, the duckling in green remarked with a nervous laugh.

Huey understood Louie wanted to lighten up the mood. He had to remove the pressure. Because he definitely felt it.

\- He does, Huey nodded while wiping a bit Donald's frowned brow.

Louie then took silently Donald's hand, squeezed it tight. Huey knew how Louie had always been very close to Donald, like his brothers, but how he was also the one that needed the most to express it.

\- I got it guys! exclaimed Dewey's voice on the threshold, throwing a wet towel at Huey. This should refresh him a little.

Huey put the cold towel on Donald's brow. This seemed to have a direct effect, as their uncle began to unwind into his bed, somehow more relaxed. Even his breathing began to soothe and ease. His sleep appeared to be more peaceful and serene. He could really get some rest from now one.

Huey could finally breathe. The fever would go down, little by little. And a knock at the door announced Scrooge's arrival at the Duck residence. Dewey ran to open, but their grand-uncle hadn't waited for him to come. Huey could hear him from the corridor, guided to Donald's room by Dewey.

\- So, where is yer idiot sick uncle, lad?

\- Right there, Uncle Scrooge. But you shouldn't shout, he's sleeping...

He almost broke the door when he penetrated into the room ; he was a storm, his voice a thunderbolt, his eyes throwing lightnings as his glance lingered on Donald in bed. He muttered to himself something that resembled «Freakin' idiot, never listening to others...».

Louie just sprinted into his arms to hug him welcome.

\- Uncle Scrooge! You came!

\- Of course i came. I can't let your idiot uncle take such poor care of you by being ill...

His words, instead of reassuring Louie, provoked some tears in his eyes.

\- It's not his fault... he murmured, sniffing loudly.

Scrooge understood immediately his mistake.

\- Oh no, lad, don't cry! It's not what i meant... Why don't you guys go put on your pajamas while i take a bit care yer uncle ?

This was enough for Dewey and Louie, who disappeared of the room in no time. But Huey, still seated on the edge of the bed, was staring at the now quiet unmoving form that was his uncle. He felt like if he broke this vision, Donald would stop being a little better. He would stop existing.

His Unca' Donald had always been so caring for them. He could have put them to adoption. He could have, but he didn't. Huey didn't really understand this decision. They costed a lot, they were problems everyday, they were tiring, and Donald was already struggling to assure his own future. He didn't need them at all. It would have been an understandable decision, really, if he had put them to be adopted.

When Huey had asked his uncle why on Earth had he decided to adopt them himself, Donald had just laughed and said :

 _\- Because i love you._

 _\- That's not a fair answer, Unca' Donald. We were babies. You didn't know us. It could have been any other babies._

 _\- Ah, Huey... You'll know when you'll have yourself your little rascals to take care of. Love is not a first-sight, or even a lightning over your head... Love grows with time. It becomes stronger really fast. It can also deteriorate if you don't take care of the other one. You just have to give it a chance, and you will be surprised how much you could love people.  
_

Huey would surely never forget these words from his uncle. Taking care of the other one. Donald was constantly doing that for them. But Huey felt like he wasn't strong enough to take care of his uncle, and this thought had a strange effect on him. It made him feel so small, so insignificant, so miserable. He wanted to love Unca' Donald as much as he loved him and Dewey and Louie. But he couldn't. He couldn't even heal him.

Scrooge's hand on his shoulder made him come back on Earth.

\- I know ye're scared, lad, but it's alright. Ye've done very well. Yer uncle would be really proud of ye all.

Huey felt like his whole body was just an entire hiccup. Pressure was finally escaping his mind. He could stop being strong, and finally be scared, and admit it to someone. He took a deep breath and thanked Scrooge with a single smile. His grand-uncle opened his arms and Huey found shelter into his embrace. No words were needed. All was said.

* * *

Huey out the room, Scrooge finally allowed himself to sit on the edge of the bed. His nephew never seemed so small and fragile before, so pale and so weak. Or maybe once, but it was long ago. Scrooge had always been used to see him throwing tantrums, yelling and raging over everything, even when he was a little duckling. What a temper he had... He could easily remind him of Hortense. If only the two had had the time to know each other... Sometimes, Scrooge wondered if Donald missed someone he barely knew, someone he had only seen as a baby.

He had Hortense's temper and features. But right now he was silent, asleep but still a bit agitated, taking little rasps breaths in.

\- You pushed yourself too far again, nephew...

A painfully heavy cough startled the old duck. He sighed. The wet towels the boys had put on Donald's brow was seeming to have no effects anymore ; he was beginning to shiver violently again. Scrooge grabbed his hand and started rubbing it gently for comfort. He couldn't do that much, just, be there. It was already something.

\- But you're lucky, he whispered. You got three attentive nephews, always worried about your well-being.

Scrooge let the poor smile vanish from his lisps when he saw Donald's move slowly :

\- ... Unk' Scrooge?

The older duck realized he could actually hear him, or at least feel him, as he began to weakly squeeze back his hand in his.

\- Donald, me boy ? Can you hear me ?

\- Where... the b-boys?

He hadn't even opened his eyes while saying that. Scrooge understood. He was worried about the boys before all other things.

\- They're going to bed, he replied with a soft voice. Everything's alright now, you can sleep tight.

\- Uncle Scrooge? a more acute and keen voice asked.

The triplets were peeking at the threshold, timidly observing him.

\- Can we kiss Unca' Donald goodnight? questioned Dewey. He's not gonna sleep well if we don't.

\- And us neither, admitted Louie.

\- Of course lads.

One by one, they all came kissing their uncle.

\- Goodnight boys... he said weakly. Love you.

Then, the boys came dropping a kiss on Scrooge's cheek. The older duck was a bit surprised that they'd kiss him also, because it had a while since someone had kissed him. That last person who'd done it before Webby was Donald when he was young. But now, the idea of having Donald kiss him on the cheek would have made Scrooge laugh to tears. There was no way this would have been happening.

And here they were. Scrooge looking after his nephew as he was seriously sick. It felt familiar.

* * *

 _\- I told ye, Donald me boy. If ye hadn't been out without yer jacket, ye wouldn't have caught suck illness..._

 _Scrooge was using what little time Donald had left being fully awake and conscious to tell him off._

 _\- Now look at you. You're all shiverin'._

 _He was indeed. The little duckling was stuck in bed since two days already, and his condition was not improving quickly. But at least it was improving. He could stay awake for like, ten minutes, before falling back to sleep for hours._

 _The first day, in comparison, had definitely been a scare for Grandma Duck and Scrooge. When Donald was back from school so pale and tired, when he had said he was alright when he was clearly not, and when he had fainted in the stairs. He wouldn't even know all the fear he'd provoked in the farm._

 _He had spoke so much in his sleep, sleep that lasted ten hours in a row. He spoke without even opening his eyes, mostly to say things like «it hurts», but also to call for Grandma Duck or even for Scrooge. Now he was silent and his sleep seemed deep and without any at least he could get some sleep. He'd wake up from time to time, and when he did, Scrooge was always there._

 _In fact, he wasn't going anywhere till his nephew got better._

 _\- Unk' Scrooge... Can you please... Read me a story?_

 _\- Sure thing, lad. Which one?_

 _\- Bluebeard, please. I began reading it... But alone, it's not fun._

 _Scrooge picked up the book Donald was pointing._

 _\- Bluebeard, uh ? Is it not a little bit too scary for a lad your age?_

 _\- What? Me? I'm bigger..._

 _He coughed, startling a bit his uncle. His coughs were still painful to hear._

 _\- I'm bigger than most of my class! And certainly... not afraid by fairy tales! But could you leave the door... open when you leave ? Just incase, you know..._

* * *

 **That's enough for this story! Did you enjoy it? Please leave a review to let me know if i should do more of little mcfeels stories like this one, and also if you have some constructive criticism, i would be glad to read it!**

 **Ciao!**


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